Summer: Some memories last forever

July 15, 2013

Updated Aug. 21, 2013 12:28 p.m.

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Marilyn and Dave Sweet shared a romantic summer in 1965 when they first fell in love. "I met Dave during my freshman year in college, and my heart was captured by his irrefutable power of love," Marilyn Sweet said. ROSE PALMISANO, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Back in the summer of 1965, Dave and Marilyn Sweet of Rossmoor fell in love. The Volkswagon Beetle that Dave drove played a part in their romance. Recalls Marilyn: "We'd ride around in his powder blue Bug, radio cranked up, pretending we were Sonny and Cher singing, “I Got You Babe.” We'd laugh until we couldn't talk and kiss with the delicious passion of new love." COURTESY OF MARILYN SWEET

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Dave Sweet was a lifeguard back in the summer of 1965 when Marilyn Sweet first fell in love with him. The Rossmoor couple has been together ever since. Marilyn describes how her husband was back then: "My Adonis spent long sizzling days working as a Seal Beach lifeguard -- all tan, brawny, and sandy -- rescuing flailing kids from unseen dangers lurking beneath the churning blue ocean." COURTESY OF MARILYN SWEET

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The best summer for Derek Thamkruphat, 29, of Santa Ana, left, and sister Tanya Sangpun Thamkruphat, 32, of Tustin involved reading and watching movies at the Santa Ana Public Library 20 years ago. They didn't have a lot of toys so books became their toys at the then-newly remodeled library. CINDY YAMANAKA, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Derek Thamkruphat, 29, of Santa Ana, left, and Tanya Sangpun Thamkruphat, 32, of Tustin pose with a photo taken in 1996, around the time the siblings enjoyed their best summer. "It (Santa Ana Public Library and reading) shaped my life," Derek says. "It was an amazing summer of bonding, fun and creativity," notes Tanya. She holds books they both read during that time. CINDY YAMANAKA, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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This photo of Tanya Sangpun Thamkruphat, right, and her brother, Derek Thamkruphat, was taken around the time they spent their summer involved in the Santa Ana Public Library's Summer Reading Program 20 years ago. They didn't have many toys at home, but won prizes for the books they read. Tanya liked books about origami and children's projects, while Derek liked to read about World War I and II aircraft. COURTESY OF TANYA THAMKRUPHAT

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Anne Kruse, second from right, grew up in Buena Park and now lives in Fullerton. She is shown here with her mom and siblings on a summer vacation more than 30 years ago. Her father, Richard Kruse, took this photo of his family, left to right: Anne's mom, Pat Kruse, her sisters, Kathi and Lisa, Anne, and brother Randy. Recalls Anne: "This pic is from a summer vacation up north to the redwoods. It was the same trip during which my brother barfed in the rented tent trailer. LOL." COURTESY OF ANNE KRUSE

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Bobbie Prentice of Santa Ana sits in the driver's seat of an MG that she drove around the summer of 1958 during a visit to Southern California from the state of Washington. Her friend Karen Adams is her passenger. Adams, last name now Colberg, lives Issaquah, Wash. Prentice got a job at the former Snack Shop on south Main Street in Santa Ana, which later became a Coco's restaurant, and borrowed the car from a fellow employee. Prentice ended up marrying and moved to Santa Ana. Of that visit she said, "Well, summer never ended and I am still here, enjoying the sunshine and beaches." COURTESY OF BOBBIE PRENTICE

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Carol Custer of San Clemente says just looking at this photograph of her and husband Don aboard their boat "Oh Carol" in 1979 makes her smile. They didn't keep the boat for very long, but during the time that they owned it, Custer said, "I enjoyed just sitting on the boat in the marina more than actually going out to sea! We spent every spare moment we had on that boat during that summer." COURTESY OF CAROL CUSTER

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Bill Thomas of Rossmoor, lower right, was featured in this 1939 story about Detroit Times newspaper carriers when he was 16. Before he became a paper boy, he spent a week when he was 12 helping out at his uncle's confectionary store: "One great part of my summer vacation was eating some nuts as I cleaned them, but even better was to eat my favorites: the chocolate-covered peanuts and raisins, and chunks of chocolate. What a delectable week I had with an almost unlimited supply of chocolates." COURTESY OF BILL THOMAS

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Joan Gladstone of Laguna Beach, right, at 7, with her sister Liz, left, and her mother, Shirley Gladstone, during a visit to Brighton Beach in New York. She says of that time: "As a kid growing up in Brooklyn I spent every summer day at Brighton Beach, near Coney Island. My mom, sister and I would find my grandmother on her “spot” on Bay 2, roll out our beach towels and spend hours swimming, building sand castles and snacking on the goodies my mom and grandmother packed for the day." COURTESY OF JOAN GLADSTONE

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Paula Card Messina of Yorba Linda holds her pet duck Quack Quack, who came into her life in 1954, the summer when she was 6. Her mother rescued Quack Quack from a duck fight at Bastanchury Lake. Paula remembers: "We gave him a safe yard to play in, a tub of water to swim in and food; he was soon following me around like a puppy. I know it was because I fed him, but at six I knew he loved me as much as I loved him and he wanted to be with me." COURTESY OF PAULA CARD MESSINA

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Martha Switzler of Garden Grove shared this photo of her father, Major Richard A. "Mac" MacDonald, taken at the Marine base in Twenty Nine Palms, Calif. Her family lived on the base when her father was stationed there in the mid-1954. Swtitzler was 12 at the time. The photo shows officers' housing in the background. She described one particular summer evening from her childhood: "The movie is over and the bus has spit the last kid out. The sunset is a glorious array of colors, but no one notices. It's time to play games of chase, or hide, or choosing sides. It's the best place a 12-year-old could spend a summer." COURTESY OF MARTHA SWITZLER

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This photo of Russ W. Bill standing in front of his old home in Connecticut was taken in November 1989. He happened to drive past on his way to visit a childhood friend. He had the picture enlarged and sent the next year to his parents Mother's Day and Father's Day. They were thrilled, he said. He recalls being apprehensive the summer his family moved there when he was 13. But that changed: "As I now reflect back at life, it was a fantastic experience, turning a negative into a positive. I learned some work ethic from my dad, started a business, discovered driving at 13, but most important, I got to spend precious one on one time with my mom." COURTESY OF RUSS W. BILL

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Scott Robbins of Tustin sits in front of the house on Lake Erie where he fondly recalls spending the summers of his youth: "I'm sitting on the terrace of the two story boat house with our house in the back ground. My window is upper left corner above the bushes." The photo below shows him and his brother out sailing: "The boat was kept out front on a buoy during the day and stored in the boat house and night. That's my brother and I going for a sail. He and I raced on 40-footers all over the Great Lakes for 15 years. COURTESY OF SCOTT ROBBINS

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Margaret and Andy Beyer of Santa Ana met on July 4, 1942. Margaret says a friend encouraged her to go talk to Andy: "I did, and he says I haven't stopped talking yet. We connected, hit it off, and just celebrated our 69th anniversary." Andy, now 91, became well known in Santa Ana as Bumbo the Clown, who entertained children for decades. COURTESY OF MARGARET BEYER

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Jim Shaffer of Laguna Woods holds a photo himself taken right after he completed boot camp. Shaffer was a radio operater with the Army's 1st Cavalry Division, 1st Signal Troop in World War II. He recalls of the summer after he graduated high school: "My summer job will be six months of intense basic training, including an M-1 rifle, hand grenades, reveille at 6 a.m., taps at 9 p.m. But hey my pay, now a dollar a day, is $30 a month – and take home a microscopic $19." LEONARD ORTIZ, THE ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Dave and Marilyn Sweet say they still enjoy each other's company. They met in college in the summer of '65, and they have been together ever since. ROSE PALMISANO, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Dave and Marilyn Sweet met in the summer of '65. "We'd ride around in his powder blue Bug, radio cranked up, pretending we were Sonny and Cher singing, 'I Got You Babe.'" They are still very much in love, they said. ROSE PALMISANO, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

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Derek Thamkruphat, 29, of Santa Ana, left, and Tanya Sangpun Thamkruphat, then and now. The photo taken in 1996, pictured at center, was around the time the siblings had their best summer. "It (Santa Ana Public Library and reading) shaped my life," Derek says. It was an amazing summer of bonding, fun and creativity, notes Tanya. She holds books they both read during that time. CINDY YAMANAKA, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Marilyn and Dave Sweet shared a romantic summer in 1965 when they first fell in love. "I met Dave during my freshman year in college, and my heart was captured by his irrefutable power of love," Marilyn Sweet said.ROSE PALMISANO, ORANGE COUNTY REGISTER

Some never-to-be-forgotten memories of summer come down to the simplest of things. Others are more complicated, evoking times defined by war, frugality, growing up.

Our readers share such moments in time.

A FIRST KISS AND MORE

I recently received a friend request on Facebook. I believe this person made a request before, but I did not recognize him, so I ignored it. This time, I happened to be on the phone with my sister and asked her to take a look – did she know this person? She said yes, it was my first boyfriend Glen, summer of 1966.

I immediately recalled my first romance: kissing for the first time ... getting caught by his mother during a make-out session. She asked to see him upstairs; I could hear all as she smacked him and said "Stop disrespecting that girl."

So, as I was on the phone with her, I confirmed him as a friend, and he immediately started to message me. My sister filled in the blanks, how we met, etc. It all came back ... how sweet he was at 13 ... how hot it was that summer on Long Island, N.Y. ... the Beatles record album he bought me for my birthday ... his ring that I wore.

He confessed that he had been looking for me a long time. I explained that I moved to California in 1971. We went back and forth messaging about that summer's parties, our break up (I recalled he had tears in his eyes when I gave back the ring). We both went on to different high schools that fall and did not socialize in the same group.

A few summers later, we were both at the same party. He played in the band that was there. I had left before he got to speak to me. He was asking a girlfriend about me, when her boyfriend thought he was hitting on her and he was beat up by him.

We have spoken on the phone, not only remembering then, other friends, but also catching up the last 47 years. We joke about seeing one another again, but due to living on different coasts, the economy, and life in general, right now it is not feasible.

I am happy that I have renewed this friendship, someone who remembers me when l was young, beautiful and life was innocent.

– Leanne Watson, Irvine

ROAD TRIP TO REMEMBER

Make a bed in the back of a Nash Rambler, toss in two sisters 7 and 11, an Auntie Barbara that would try anything once coupled with a super conservative Mom and you are set for an adventure from Newport to the site of my mom and aunt's birthplace. A small town in Montana!

Montana towns make the O.C. seem like a different planet. As my Sis and I strolled the streets shoeless in shorts, the townspeople were aghast. So for beginners, we were a horse of a different color requiring stares galore.

Want an ice cream in the O.C.? You went to an ice cream parlor. In Montana in the early '50s, you go to the local pub with your parents having a beer in the back while you have a sundae at the bar!

Who knew that if you fed your great aunt's chicken flock breadcrumbs they would accompany you to the back door and decorate the yard with poop! I guarantee your aunt will hit the door screaming, grab a chicken and start slinging it around. Look the other way as she grabs the hatchet and the next time you see that poor chicken it will be your dinner!

Besides learning the frequency that chickens poop, the memorable parts of the trip were the beauty and grandeur of Yellowstone National Park, the Montana Mountains and scenery, kind townspeople, and sleeping sans jammies in the heat in Vegas as we beheld the treasures of our wondrous country.

Vegas was a ghost town then and the flea bag motel we stayed in was something out of hell. But I just bought a DVD collection of the National Parks for my 6-year-old great-grandson and was reminded of the beauty and wonder we saw at Carlsbad Caverns!

– Marilla C. Hamor, San Juan Capistrano

PLACES IN THE HEART

The summer I'll always remember is my first summer in Sharon, Conn., in 1957. We moved there from North Chelmsford, Mass., the day after Thanksgiving in 1956 while I was in eighth grade, because my dad had a job in New York. I was very apprehensive about leaving my entire family in Massachusetts, especially my older sister Judy and brother Allen, along with all my friends back home.

My parents bought a home built in the 1800s on Route 7 with seven cabins and a garage that also was a snack bar, across the street from Housatonic Meadows State Park near Cornwall Bridge. I had to make the best of it, so at 13 I decided to open Russ' Snack Bar for the entire summer working seven days a week.

My dad also taught me how to paint and do repairs around the house and cabins, as there was always plenty of work to do and he was not there during the week. For fun Dad taught me how to drive across the street in the park on a 1937 Dodge truck. That was a challenge, learning how to drive a stick shift. The truck had a dead battery and when I stalled it, we had to push it by hand to get it started again.

My wife Marcia and I often visit my old home when we go back to New England. We even stayed in my old room at a cost of $129. In 2010 we took two of our grandkids, Lauren and Danielle, back for a visit. The new owner of the home always enjoys seeing me since I always tell him something new about the old house. He told me too bad I didn't come two days sooner. Lady Gaga and her band stayed there while performing in Springfield, Mass., just up Route 7. The timing was just a little off.

As I now reflect back at life, it was a wonderful experience, turning a negative into a positive. I learned some work ethic from my dad, started a business, learned to drive at 13. But more importantly, I got to spend a lot of one-on-one time with my mom.

– Russ W. Bill, Fountain Valley

JUST BEING TOGETHER

As a kid growing up during the World War II years, vacation travel was non-existent. Much later, after a four-year stint in the U.S. Navy (which was no vacation), I managed to make up for lost time. So, was my favorite summer when vacationing in Carmel, with my wife and two daughters? Or was it in London, Tahiti, Hawaii, Paris or Rome when we attended Mass in Pope John Paul II's private chapel in Castel Gandolfo?

Or was it another Rome summer, quaffing pitchers of wine with Jesse Owens, fabled Olympics track immortal?

All were memorable, and favorites of mine, on many levels. Those vacations spanned decades over the 1960s thru 2001, when we met the pope.

Nothing, though, surpasses in memory, a short, hot, August in Laguna Beach. The trip was only for two nights. It was all we could afford then. It was Aug. 16 and 17, in 1952, nearly 61 years ago. A highlight of that trip was just sitting in Heisler Park, on moonlit, starry nights, holding hands with my young bride, Marie.

It's a memory we both cherish, even today. While not exactly a vacation, that was a summer trip I wouldn't trade for anything.

– Roy Roudine, Los Alamitos

LEARNING TO DUCK, 1954

Feathers were flying, children were screaming and my mother and I were running. There was no time to think, only react. Mother walked into the middle of the fight and everyone scattered except the wounded ... duck.

The summer I was 6 I didn't understand nature's laws. This law required all healthy ducks in Bastanchury Lake, to attack the sick or wounded among them. What a bedraggled pitiful sight, almost no feathers remained on his skinny body, even his feet were bloody. My mother picked up the battered duck, wrapped him in a towel and we took him home. I named him Quack Quack, of course.

We gave him a safe yard to play in, a tub of water to swim in and food; he was soon following me around like a puppy. I know it was because I fed him, but at 6 I knew he loved me as much as I loved him and he wanted to be with me. Our neighborhood finally had what few have, a quacking duck at dawn.

After several months he was big, beautiful and healthy. Since we knew there were bullies at Bastanchury Lake, we decided his new home should be in Hillcrest Park. No pond there now, but back in the day ...

– Paula Messina, Yorba Linda

DRIVING WITH THE TOP DOWN

In 1958 I came down to Southern California from Washington for a "fun summer." Well, summer never ended and I am still here, enjoying the sunshine and beaches.

I had just one year of college at Seattle University – the same year that Elgin Baylor played basketball at Seattle U. My girlfriend Donna and I came down here on Greyhound. I immediately got a job at the Snack Shop on south Main (in Santa Ana). She did not find a job, so after a couple of months she went back home.

However one day before she went home I borrowed a fellow employee's little MG and Donna and I drove into Hollywood. Boy, did we ever think we were hot stuff. But I guess we were considering that we came down from a small hick town in Washington – Snoqualmie, population 1,000.

Anyway, I ended up getting married and having three kids, who all still live in California.

– Bobbie Prentice, Santa Ana

LIFE ON THE BASE

It was originally meant to be a temporary installation. The first impression of the Marine Base in Twenty Nine Palms, Calif., in 1954 is one of desolation. It's desert. Rows of boxes were quarters for the young Marines. The enlisted men with families were housed in ranks of yellow trailers.

Since my father's rank was major, we lived in "re-locatable" officers' housing on curved streets, grass and trees not necessary. It was the last place a 12-year-old would want to be.

It's a summer evening. The sun has gone to bed for the night, taking its 100 degree temperatures with it. Sitting on the front stoop, the night sky looks like a blanket of black velvet with thousands of sparkling diamonds strewn across the surface. A chorus of crickets celebrates the passing of the sun in one-part harmony. Don't move. See, just there: It's a kangaroo mouse with his long tail and greeting-card face.

Flashes of sheet lightning flicker on the horizon, bringing the promise of a summer rain storm some time during the night. Morning comes; the promise is fulfilled. The dust in the front yard has been tamed, for now. Nature's done her wash and her clothes are on the line.

Mornings are the dependents' time in the only swimming pool on base. All the kids are there, bodies golden, diving, splashing, yelling for attention. They jump on bikes, head home for lunch. Afternoons, meet at someone's home to play cards under the swamp cooler. When shadows lean toward the east, it's off to the post exchange for the orange sherbet taste of a Push-up or 50/50 ice cream bar.

Television hasn't come to the valley yet, but the movie changes in the base theater every night and only costs a dime. A military green bus has been designated for dependent use and drives through the houses picking up kids and dropping them off at the theater each evening; also to school and church. The movie tonight? Disney's documentary, "The Living Desert."

The movie is over and the bus has spit the last kid out. The sunset is a glorious array of colors, but no one notices. It's time to play games of chase, or hide, or choosing sides. It's the best place a 12-year-old could spend a summer.

– Martha Switzler, Garden Grove

OLD HOUSE ON ROUTE 7

The summer I'll never forget is my first summer in Sharon, Conn., in 1957. We moved there from North Chelmsford, Mass., the day after Thanksgiving in 1956 while I was in eighth grade. I was extremely apprehensive about leaving my entire family in Massachusetts, especially my older sister Judy and brother Allen, and all my friends back home.

My parents bought a home built in the 1800s with seven cabins and a garage that included a snack bar on US Route 7, nestled in the Berkshire Mountains and Housatonic River near Cornwall Bridge. I had to make the best of it, so at 13 I decided to open Russ' Snack Bar for the entire summer, working seven days a week.

My dad also taught me how to paint and do repairs around the house and cabins. There was always plenty of work to do since he was not there during the week. For fun Dad taught me how to drive across the street in the park on a 1937 Dodge truck. That was a challenge, learning how to drive a stick shift. The truck had a dead battery and when I stalled it, we had to push it by hand to get it started again.

My wife Marcia and I often visit my old home when we go back to New England. We even stayed in my old bedroom at a cost of $129. In 2010 we took two of our grandkids, Lauren and Danielle, back for a visit. The new owner of the home enjoys seeing me since I always tell him something new about the old house. He told me too bad I didn't come three days sooner. Lady Gaga and her band stayed there while performing in Springfield, Mass.

As I now reflect back at life, it was a fantastic experience, turning a negative into a positive. I learned some work ethic from Dad, started a business, discovered driving at 13. But most important, I got to spend precious one-on-one time with my mom.

– Russ W. Bill, Fountain Valley

THE SUMMER THE WAR CAME

June 21, 1941, school is out, it is the first day of summer, and I have just finished my freshman year at Wiley High School in Terre Haute, Indiana. And in 1941 in Terre Haute, it is traditional for boys finishing their freshman year to get a summer job, earn money, and stop depending on parental hand outs.

Me and three of my buddies land our first summer job at a large plant making cardboard boxes. They are tied into big flat bundles of 50 and loaded by fork lift into a box car. We students lifted them off the fork lift and stacked them tightly in the box car. It is sweaty, back-breaking work, and that first check for $42 makes us instant millionaires.

And on Sunday, Dec. 7 of this year, Japan attacks Pearl Harbor, and we are at war.

A year later, 1942, I am a sophomore, and again school is out and summer is a calendar reality. This year we get jobs at the local Quaker Maid plant, producer of spaghetti, macaroni, and peanut butter. I end up with spaghetti, feeding great balls of dough to a pressing machine.

Some days I work the machine, other days the rack on the floor below. The machine is treacherous, never get your fingers under the press, or they become spaghetti. The drying oven is hell on earth and I leave sweat marks on the floor pushing the racks. But our pay has improved: a weekly check for $48.

In 1943, as a junior, I get a summer job at a small pie-only bakery two blocks from home. It is Parks Purity Pies, and Bill, the son of the owner, is one of my classmates. Just he and I, every day, make some 100 pies, three flavors only – apple, cherry, peach. It is a strenuous job, mixing dough for the crust, opening big cans of fruit, creating the pie in a pan, and pushing it with a long-handled spatula into a hot oven. It is a 10-hour day, but hey, the pay: I'm at $55 a week!

I graduate from Wiley High School in June of 1944, and a week later turn 18. At 18, all boys must register for the draft. I am classified 1-A. A few weeks later I am at Fort Riley, Kansas, a private in the U.S. Army. My summer job will be six months of intense basic training, including an M-1 rifle, hand grenades, reveille at 6 a.m., taps at 9 p.m. But hey my pay, now a dollar a day, is $30 a month – and take home a microscopic $19.

Summer still exists in Terre Haute, but Wiley High School, the box plant, Quaker Maid, and Parks Purity Pies are long gone.

– Jim Shaffer, Laguna Woods

WHERE THE ASTERS BLOOMED

My favorite summer memory is asters in early September 1966. I made a large curved flowerbed about 6-feet in diameter in our backyard. There I planted giant asters from seed. They grew close to 5 feet tall and had large frothy blooms in pastels. So gorgeous.

During the summer evenings after dinner, my family played fun croquet games on the lawn. My father built a little wood bench, and set it with chairs by the flowerbed. After playing croquet, we sat near the asters to have coffee. The asters were a bit taller than our heads when sitting down.

We sipped our coffee in the lush California twilight. The delicate blooms and soft fragrance of nearby roses were so sweet. We talked about everything and nothing at all, just family chatter. I loved those evenings.

Then big golden orb weaver spiders appeared from who knew where. They spun their elaborate fantastic webs across the aster stalks like a fairy tale scene. The gentle evening breeze rippled through the asters while we watched the spiders climbing up and down spinning.

The deepening twilight brought a chill to the garden and turned the flowers into ghostly blooms. Then we gathered up the coffee cups and went into the house, and left the asters dreaming in the night air.

– Elizabeth McWay, Placentia

LIVING ON LAKE ERIE, 1961

I awake early to the quiet this morning, which is unusual because there's always a shore break at my bedroom window. It rocks me to sleep each night, and I rise with the waves calling to me to come and play. Today is that special day that only happens when the lake is completely flat.

There's a cool breeze blowing through my open bedroom window, which makes me wrap myself tighter in my cream-and-rust-colored cowboy blanket. But my friends will be up soon so I jump out of bed to be the first to break the giant blue pane of Erie glass. "It's like carving your name in new cement."

Pulling up my cut-off blue jean shorts, I run through the back yard down the huge embankment covered with trees where Tarzan, Pirates and the Boogey Man dwell. I stop short of the beach knowing that the sun hasn't been up long enough to warm the night sand. With my first step I'm aware of the cold granules separating my toes as my weight pushes my foot through the top layer deeper into the sunless sand beneath.

I race to the shoreline as we look at each other and smile, knowing that today is going to be perfect. I lunge forward into the freezing water, diving head first, shattering the smooth surface. I swim around spinning like a Dolphin warming my body and then back to the shore.

Walking up to the thicker warm sand, I drop onto my stomach laying my right cheek in her warmth. I close my eyes and almost fall asleep from the peacefulness. I'm cradled in the moment's solitude, like a newborn baby at its mother's breast.

– Prescott Ambrose Robbins, Tustin

LA HABRA, 1956

We lived on the wrong side of the tracks, but oh what lovely tracks they were. Our neighborhood was surrounded by fields and in the summer of 1956 the back field held more delights than can be imagined ... horses. Of course there was a fence around the horses and signs posted that read "Do Not Trespass," but we didn't mind that. We didn't mind it almost every day.

With no saddles or bridles there was the problem of getting on these magnificent animals. This problem was solved with some planning and careful timing. My favorite horse was the one standing closest to the fence. I had to be careful because sometimes I would get one leg across the horse's back and he would walk away.

There I would be, dangling between the fence and the horse, and you know the horse won. If I was lucky, I missed the pile of warm manure he left behind and I still wonder if the horse didn't plan for me to fall in the soft pile. I mean, his timing was perfect!

I loved the smell of hay, the aroma of sweat (mine and the horses) and I even liked the scent of manure. There wasn't a better way to spend a summer day even though it was on the wrong side of the tracks. But really, how far on the wrong side could it have been, when we had hills to climb, horses to ride and Bastanchury Lake to fish in?

– Paula Messina, Yorba Linda

THE LOVE BUG, 1965

There never has been, and never will be, another summer quite as magical as the summer of '65. That summer was filled with all the carefree moments that being only 19 can bring: adventure, fun, excitement and the belief that youth, like summer, would last forever.

I met Dave during my freshman year in college and my heart was immediately captured by his irrefutable power of love ... not to mention his beautiful chocolate brown eyes. He was smart, handsome, athletic and funny. I lived for his phone calls, hung on his every word and counted the hours until our dates.

My Adonis spent long, sizzling days working as a Seal Beach lifeguard – all tan, brawny, and sandy – rescuing flailing kids from unseen dangers lurking beneath the churning blue ocean. But the romantic summer evenings were ours to share: dancing at parties, watching waves wash the shore under a hypnotic moon, or eating drippy ice cream cones on the pier.

We'd ride around in his powder blue Bug, radio cranked up, pretending we were Sonny & Cher singing, "I Got You Babe." We'd laugh until we couldn't talk and kiss with the delicious passion of new love. The world was never more lovely than the summer of '65.

But whoever said summer love is fleeting was wrong. It has been 48 years since that magical summer and though youth is long gone, our love story continues just like it did during that glorious summer of '65.

– Marilyn Sweet, Rossmoor

GONE FISHING

Almost 40 years ago, our then 8-year-old son went to his first "away camp" for a week. The day before he came home, he caught a fish. Wanting to show it to us, he wrapped it up in some dirty clothes and packed it into his suitcase to bring home the next day.

What a surprise for us and a great memory.

– Lois Tromp, Fountain Valley

FRIENDS AND FAMILY, 1956

In 1956, my friend Roy and I got our first jobs running the surf mat and umbrella stands at Seal Beach. My mom would drive us each morning, as we were too young to drive. We would spend time each morning and after closing to do a little surfing.

The next summer, I had my driver's license, so it was back to Seal Beach and the umbrella/surf mat stands for another great summer. Over the next few years, we spent a lot of time surfing and skin diving up and down the SoCal coast.

My friend Roy, who later became my brother-in-law, passed away in 1998. I still cherish those wonderful summers with my friend Roy.

– Kenny Mulholland, La Habra

A BOWL OF CHERRIES

Spring comes in like a lion and out like a lamb. Summer floats in with the smell of the best fruit of the year and floats out on the dreaded smell of "Back to School" ads in the newspaper. These were the markers I learned to love and hate growing up.

Summer at my house meant my mom would be making special trips to a second grocery store, McCoy's Market (out of business), simply to get the best summer fruit available at a reasonable price.

Although my dad was an accountant, my mom managed the budget for our family of six. Let's just say we stretched everything: added powdered milk to our milk; added something called TVP, textured vegetable protein, to ground beef; and rationed cookies, ice cream and the intensely coveted summer fruit.

I now understand the method to her madness. As a child, hearing "You can only have four cherries per day" left me with a sense of deep juvenile deprivation. "Why?" I would whine. Her answer was always calm and loving, "Because that's plenty."

Guess how many cherries I ate today? If you answered, "Four," then you understand the impact my mom had on me growing up. The scrumptious little gems in life come in moderation; and there are going to be pits.

Now that she is in the throes of Alzheimer's and doesn't remember the many wisdoms she imparted, the season of summer fruit holds a new meaning for me, especially that bowl of cherries.

– Anne Kruse, Fullerton (grew up in Buena Park)

CAMP FOR GROWN MEN, 1957

Remember the summer you first went to camp? I sure do, and many people like me can also.

When I was a young kid growing up in New York City, at the end of the summer my dad said that next year he would send me to camp. At long last, he did. He signed the paperwork (because I was 17).

So, on July 2, 1957, I was off to my first camp. It was called boot camp and it was at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island, S.C. I told some of my Marine friends that I sent this info to you. Most of them were in the same boat as me – first time to camp was boot camp.

Semper fi.

– David A. Marshall, Santa Ana

IT HAPPENED AT THE LIBRARY

Growing up, my younger brother and I didn't have a lot of toys like other kids, so we decided to make the best of our summers. My most memorable one was when I was 12. My brother and I first joined the Santa Ana Public Library's Summer Reading Program, since we lived a skip and a hop away from the library.

All summer long, books became our toys. We received reading prizes, and once a week, we got to watch free movies sponsored by the program. Also, the books I read inspired me to start "upcycling" projects at home, and this was way before upcycling became popular.

It was an amazing summer of bonding, fun and creativity. As adults now, my brother and I agree it was the best summer we ever had.

One of my favorite summer memories is the summer of 1979 when we had our boat, the Oh Carol. It was serendipity that we found a boat to buy that was already named after me! The boat was a 30-foot wooden Chris-Craft. We had it in a slip in Dana Point.

I enjoyed just sitting on the boat in the marina more than actually going out to sea. We spent every spare moment we had on that boat during that summer. For a girl from Kansas, this was the ultimate in California living!

– Carol Custer, San Clemente

A CLOWN IN HER FUTURE, 1942

It was the Fourth of July, 1942. I was at a YMCA co-ed camp in Downingtown, Pa., playing volleyball. My sister, who was also playing, told me to talk to the nice-looking fellow at the front of the court. I did, and he says I haven't stopped talking yet.

We connected, hit it off and just celebrated our 69th anniversary. My husband, Andy (aka Bumbo the Clown), entertained in Orange County for 58 years with his merry-go-round. He retired when he was 91 and is still laughing and enjoying life.

– Margaret Beyer, Santa Ana

CHOCOLATES, ANYONE? 1935

In the summer of 1935, at the age of 12, my parents put me on a Greyhound bus to ride from Detroit up to my Uncle Tom's home in Mount Clemens, Mich.

My uncle owned his own confectionary store, where he dipped his own chocolates. My job in helping my uncle was to break the shells of an assortment of nuts. The easiest to break were the pecans, almonds, filberts and walnuts. The hardest were the Brazil nuts.

Uncle placed large chunks of chocolate into a very large pan and slowly heated it until the chunks had melted. He placed the pan on a table where I had placed the shelled nuts. One by one, he dipped each nut into the warm chocolate and then placed each onto a long, wide plate until each chocolate solidified. When each plate of new chocolates was ready, Uncle Tom placed them on display in glass-enclosed counters so people could buy them.

One great part of my summer vacation was eating some nuts as I cleaned them, but even better was to eat my favorites: the chocolate-covered peanuts and raisins, and chunks of chocolate. What a delectable week I had with an almost unlimited supply of chocolates.

– Bill Thomas, Rossmoor

SENSE OF HUMOR, 1960

As a kid growing up in Brooklyn, I spent every summer day at Brighton Beach, near Coney Island. My mom, sister and I would find my grandmother on her "spot" on Bay 2, roll out our beach towels and spend hours swimming, building sand castles and snacking on the goodies my mom and grandmother packed for the day.

One of my favorite memories is of buying ice cream from a Good Humor man. All day long, a troop of mostly high school boys wearing white pith helmets, white long-sleeved shirts, white pants and black boots trudged across the hot sand with large rectangular metal coolers slung across their shoulders. When you'd wave and yell, "Good Humor Man!" they'd walk up right to your blanket and pull an ice cream treat out from a cloud of dry ice.

I still love ice cream, but I haven't topped the memory of a Chocolate Eclair personally delivered on a hot summer day!

– Joan Gladstone, Laguna Beach

FLOATING ALONG, 1985

My favorite memory was floating on my back – sans inner tube – in the Salt Sea or Dead Sea (which borders Jordan/Israel), reading a newspaper. At 1,302 feet below sea level, it is the lowest point on earth, sometimes called the drain plug of the world.

But its salt, mud and mineral content also make it one of the finest health spas you can find. My sister Brig slapped a rich mud pie on my face – a mask that makes your skin glow and tingle, and which I will never forget.

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